


In all my lifetimes, I'll find and choose you

by SiobhanMcG



Series: Weekend drabbles [3]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Comedy, F/F, One Shot Collection, Short & Sweet, Various Meryl Streep characters because I am a shallow person, fire evacuation flirting, the post AU, wisteria, witchy business
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23769733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiobhanMcG/pseuds/SiobhanMcG
Summary: My one shot/short story collection from The Great Plague.Largely AU/short and sweet/creative writing experiments/bits of comedy. We deserve nice things in lockdown, so only nice stories.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly & Andrea Sachs, Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Series: Weekend drabbles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1003239
Comments: 28
Kudos: 71





	1. Wisteria Lane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Regency](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regency/gifts).



She’d always loved wisteria, even if she didn’t quite know why. Their quiet elegance fascinated her, their forceful tranquillity overwhelmed her. So when she had found the hidden lane nestled between two blocks and lined with trellises, covered in white, pink and purple petals, she had fallen in love immediately. Now she walks there at least once a week, admiring the flowers and their fleeting presence. Wisteria lane, she calls it, a sanctuary from the clamour of the city.

Some days she finds herself sat on the little bench there, wisteria gently swinging in the breeze as she loses herself in whatever book she has picked up this week. Today is one of such days. Something moves in the corner of her eye. 

When she looks up she sees a woman, half-hidden by a particularly low drooping branch. She blinks, but the woman has disappeared. As she reaches the end of the lane she looks around, but can’t find her. Andy tells herself it doesn’t matter. Yet she is left with a sense of disappointment she can’t quite shake. She tells herself she hadn’t meant to, but she is back the next day, sauntering around. She walks the length of the alley twice- no thrice and eventually ends up sitting on a bench, attempting to read the book she brought but doesn’t get past the first page. Yet she stays until the branches’ long shadows melt into the evening light and she finds herself shivering, but she doesn’t see the woman again. Not that she was looking. 

It’s eleven days until she finally sees her again. She comes through the small garden gate a few paces down from Andy’s bench, which must be how she disappeared so quickly the first time she saw her. Her hair as white as the roots of the many petals surrounding them, her eyes blue as the sky above. She doesn’t pay attention to Andy, if anything, she appears to be ignoring her. Which somehow suits Andy just fine. 

The following days, Andy puts in slightly more effort than usual before she departs for her, now daily, walk. Some days she catches a glimpse of the woman, more often than not she doesn’t. But it’s all worth it. Sometimes she even holds her gaze for the briefest of moments and she can feel her skin burn with the intensity. Andy thinks she might be in love. In love with a woman she’s never as much as exchanged a single word with. A woman whose name she doesn’t even know. But it doesn’t matter, because her lips are a pale pink drawn against marble skin. Andy imagines them to be softer than the hundreds of petals surrounding her. 

But then one day Andy finds herself in front of her. She isn’t sure how- But they’re stood in front of the garden gate, surrounded by a sea of purple, pink and white petals swinging in the breeze.  
Words tumble out of her mouth as she introduces herself, feeling both awkward and foolish. But what has she really got to lose?

Then there is the silence, stretching out around them as petals are falling around them. Andy can feel the woman’s eyes upon her body, slowly taking her in. She should feel nervous, but now that the words have left her lips she feels calm. Her presence is like an oasis in the summer heat; like water against Andy’s parched lips. Then finally, the woman raises one perfect, thin eyebrow and answers, her voice quiet and cool.

“It took you long enough.”


	2. Winter mornings

Andy wasn’t sure how she had managed to snatch this apartment she would never know. Sure, it was minute compared to some in her building and had probably once been a very extravagant janitor’s closet, but it was an apartment in one of New York’s most expensive apartment blocks nonetheless. 

Unfortunately, expensive or not, it still had fire drills. Which was what currently brought her outside, stood on the pavement on a rather cold winter morning, in nothing but her favourite ratty t-shirts, shorts and bargain bin slippers. Speaking about style. 

Something caught her eye. A woman. Off to one side, away from the crowd, she stood leaning ever so slightly against the wall. Unlike Andy, she looked flawless. Her hair pure white with one lock falling onto her face, resting over her eyebrow. Any wondered how her hair looked so perfect, yet nonchalant as if it just fell into place like this (much unlike her own hair, which usually needed a lot of convincing before it would do anything Andy asked of it). One tip of her glasses was resting against her lips as she seemed to contemplate their current predicament with visible annoyance.

But what had struck Andy were her eyes. They were an icy, shimmering blue, not unlike the winter sky above them.

Looking back, Andy couldn’t say what possessed her to walk over, or even remember doing so. But she could certainly remember how she had awkwardly stuttered and searched for words as her mind went black the moment she felt those blue eyes resting on her, one brow already arched in an unspoken question. And the words that fell from her lips before she even realised were engrained in her memories for life.

‘So... Do you evacuate here often?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I wrote something like this before but for Berena. But I don't care, dignity is fake.


	3. Nature's gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy is more similar to Miranda in ways she would never have predicted and Miranda has to tell her.

She had an inkling when the girl had first stepped foot into her office. Nearly imperceptible fluttering in the air. _Nearly_.   
  
But then, when the girl had gone on her little crusade, it became clear. Sparks had come of her, dancing in the air- uncontrollably like the girl in front of her. She had felt the raw power fizzling against her fingertips and maybe even bristling her hair (though she admits she _may_ have imagined that as her hair had been perfectly fine following their brief encounter). 

So she hired her.   
  
It had been an impulsive decision. Miranda told herself she was too old, too busy- but most importantly too fatigued with that world. She had carved out her own personal Eden — with significant pains and efforts, she might add — and she was not about to give it up for some girl. Some _wholly unsuitable girl_.   
  
Andrea was stubborn, unyielding even. She wasn’t even suitable for the job Miranda hired her for. How could she be expected to teach this graceless train wreck of a girl who couldn’t even get her coffee order right, let alone brush her hair in the morning?

 _No_. It would not do.

Over the months the girl had made progress, enormous progress even. There had also been many mistakes ( _far too many_ ), but even Miranda had to admit the girl had grown admirably. Some might even go as far as saying that Miranda Priestly was proud.

 _Impressed even_.

But the girl had walked away. Right when she had needed her most.  
  


And Miranda never told her. A nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach knew she should have told the girl months ago. She told herself there just hadn’t been a suitable opportunity, _Runway_ had been too busy. There were always deadlines, shoots and meetings to deal with. Where had she been supposed to find the time? Nevertheless, deep down Miranda knew she wasn’t kidding anyone- least of all herself. The girl was too old, inexperienced and uncontrollable. Her kind- _Their_ kind were usually trained at childhood, it was rare to encounter an untrained. But there she had been, giving that cute little speech in her office in a hideous blazer.

It had been years since she had taught anyone. And she hadn’t been a… great teacher, admittedly. The last time she had seen Irene, the last and only apprentice, for about 17 years. Word had it she was in Russia. Or Venezuela. Or Papua New Guinea. She seemed very set on ensuring Miranda wasn’t aware of her previous location. Suffice to say teaching hadn’t been for her.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t stopped one Andrea Sachs from turning up in her office, sparks flying, but Miranda hadn’t taught her. _Or even told her_. She sighed. It was never a simple thing to reveal, not to adults. Because how would you tell someone without shattering their world, tell them they were not who they thought they were? Not that many believed it at first sight, so to say- herself included. She remembered the day. Fortunately, she had been young, eleven at most. A teacher had taken her aside one day after class, telling her to stay until everyone had left. It had worried Miranda when the woman had sat her down and looked at her apologetically. She had wondered what had happened this time, mentally preparing to spend the rest of her week with her grandparents once more. What followed was the last thing she had expected.

 _Magic was real_.

She had sat there, stunned in the battered chair in her 5th-grade classroom in East-London as she listened very, very quietly. Her initial emotion had been disbelief, but once that had passed happiness quickly followed by guilt. This was her ticket out, she had quickly realised, away from everything that was her current life. And she had been right. From that moment, her teacher taught her not only English, maths and everything else in the day, but started mentoring her in the late-afternoons and teaching her spells, enchantments and much more. Over the years, their sessions grew well into the evenings, until she had fully grown into herself. Magic, like anything she put her mind to, had been something she excelled at. Her gifts granted her freedom and power, all she could ever have wished for. And even now, having created something even bigger for herself and having left the world of magic and its balding grey men behind (they were everywhere it seemed), she was one of the most powerful on the Eastern seaboard. And now it appeared to fall to her to mentor Andrea. Andrea, a girl she now saw so much of herself in. Young, ambitious and destined to be powerful. Destined to become so much more than the little person with horrendous shoes and polyester jumpers that had first graced her office so many months ago. She would become one of their kind. A sorcerer, wizard, conjurer or magician. (Or _sorceress,_ as she’d like to stress. Men always had the nasty habit of forgetting the other fifty per cent.) Though most preferred the more common term, _witch_. One thing page six got right about her, whether they knew it or not. Her lips curled slightly. _If only they knew about her affinity for ice._ She had to tell the girl, to deny Andrea her birthright would be sacrilege. _And the world desperately needed powerful women_.

So she found herself standing in front of a door with multiple glass panels replaced by cardboard. A lesser woman might have told herself that this would dissolve her responsibility. A lesser woman might argue that the girl had simply walked out before she had had a chance. A lesser woman might say she had her hands full with the running of a multimillion-dollar magazine and yet another arduous divorce. But Miranda Priestly was _not_ a lesser woman.  
  
Her town car had driven her to Brooklyn, but she had walked the last few blocks to the apartment, giving herself time to clear her mind and ground herself. The frosty air always did her good, even if it was _Brooklyn_. It had taken little effort to find Andrea’s new address. A one-bedroom apartment, Miranda noted and felt some of the tension, she would never admit had been there in the first place, leaving her. _The cook had left_ , _Andrea was alone_. It would make matters considerably easier and the girl had deserved better, she reluctantly admitted. It was a good thing she was wearing gloves, she thought to herself as she rapped on the door, her impatience already getting to her. Finally, she heard the lock rattling and the door swung open at last. Andrea Sachs had not been expecting her if the look on her face was anything to go by, or the rather hideous t-shirt she was wearing (she refused to even acknowledge the grey monstrosity below which some would call _sweatpants_ ). She took a deep breath — _into the breach they went._


	4. A rough draft of history

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of going to the New York Mirror, Andy leaves to work at the Washington Post, where she meets and is mentored by Lin Whitman. Who looks just like Miranda.

Of course she had heard of Lin Whitman. Anyone who was anything in reporting had, especially if that ‘anyone’ was a woman. Ever since Andy first heard about her, she had admired and adored Lin. Owner and editor of the Washington Post by 30, dethroner of Nixon by 35 and admired by women in publishing ever since. If Miranda was the queen of fashion, Lin was the queen mother of news. Yet Andy had somehow completely forgotten what she looked like. So when, at her first day, she was greeted by a pair of sharp, bright blue eyes accompanied by white hair and high cheekbones, her heart nearly gave out.

_ Miranda? _

Andy hadn’t been sure why, but Lin had taken a great interest in her following Miranda’s ‘unique’ reference, sent directly to Lin herself. Both a blessing and a curse, Andy thought to herself. Leave it to Miranda to set a high bar, even when Andy was no longer working for her.   
  
Lin was much like Miranda; powerful, respected, talented and unafraid of any man. But at the same time Lin was nothing like her. Warmth radiated off her in waves. Her voice was often playful, with a soft drawl to it. Yet it could obliterate any man who stood in her way or dared belittle her. Andy could do nothing but fall for her. Hard.  
  
She tells herself it’s just an infatuation, an innocent, typical ‘attraction to authority figure’ kind of crush. And she supposed it was, in a way. It had absolutely nothing to do with another powerful and accomplished woman with identical white hair and high cheekbones. Andy told herself she didn’t search for Miranda whenever she saw Lin’s eyes; identical yet a complete antithesis of what she hoped to find. When she thought about it, late at night in bed with her hands already resting on her thigh, Andy felt guilty. Guilty for comparing Lin, who was accomplished in her own right to Miranda. Guilty for thinking about Lin and pretending it was Miranda as her hand slid down between her thighs. Guilty for not feeling guilty enough.  
  
Where Miranda was ice, Lin was fire. Where Miranda deals in high erected walls and piercing, cold stares, Lin perseveres with passion and an all-encompassing warmth. Lin is gentle, but it would be a mistake to call her weak. Whilst no one feels intimidated by a summer breeze, especially when compared to biting cold, it does not make the fire that follows any less deadly.

A little over a year into her new job, the inevitable happens. As Lin protégée galas, dinner parties and other social affairs had become obligatory events. Andy was starting to understand why Miranda and Lin both shunned them as much as they could and operated on a strict ‘in-and-out in 15’-policy.    
  
Andy didn’t need to turn around to see her enter. Miranda’s presence commanded and electrified the room from the moment she entered. Her heart fell through her chest, one year and even Miranda’s sheer presence still left her enchanted. The black vintage Valentino was flowing around her feet, but clung to her curves like a second skin. But more than anything, her eyes still captured Andy like nothing else she had ever experienced. Her skin tingled when their eyes locked, something in her chest tightened. Andy could feel nothing but an all powerful pull coming from the very core of her being, that same pull she had denied a year ago in Paris. The very idea Miranda could not feel the force which Andy felt pulled them together was impossible to believe, yet Andy knew it to be true. All she wanted was Miranda’s presence- to hear her voice and get lost in the scent of May rose and Jasmine. But her sense of self-preservation told her otherwise. Disregarding her own feelings, she didn’t know how Miranda felt about socialising with her ‘biggest disappointment’. Even Lin’s protection only went so far.

But she had to bite the bullet eventually as they slowly gravitated towards each other. Any other day she would have been fascinated. Lin and Miranda were both admirable and formidable women in their own right. People gravitated towards them, conversations were centred around them. Seeing them together in a room was hypnotising, like watching an intricate dance. Everyone twirling and whirling in a carefully calculated rhythm, looking to meet one and avoid the other- and not get caught in the middle. Two singularities, attracting all matter around them, bending light and manipulating forces. Opposites cut from the same cloth. When they finally met Andy’s world went blank. She was sure Lin said many good and complimentary things about her, but all she could remember was a pronounced droning, silence. The moment caught her as she got lost in the brightest and most captivating blue eyes she had ever known. 

They ended up standing on a balcony, out in the cooling night’s air swirling around them, soothing her scorching skin. Lin had led them out there, but then excused herself.  _ The conspirator _ . A comfortable silence enveloped them. Miranda never liked small talk and Andy now realised she didn’t care much for it either.  
  
“Thank you for the reference.”  
  
Miranda sniffs. "I couldn't have you working for some rag. Lin has standards- ethics. A rare this in this business."  
  
“I didn't know you cared much about the news.” Andy smiles, she can tell that under that well-crafted façade of disdain, Miranda is entertained. Who knew that a verbal sparring with Miranda Priestly could be so intoxicating?  
  
“Au contraire, I value newspapers very much when they are reporting actual news as opposed to idle gossip.” She turns to look at Andy directly, her voice and gaze suddenly serious. “Because what is news if not the first rough draft of history.”

  
Andy’s breath hitches. Her heart knows that sentence means more, but her brain has trouble catching up. Somehow it doesn’t matter, so she takes a leap of faith.  
  
“Miranda...”

She remained silent, but her eyes encouraged Andy to continue. If she was a religious woman, she might have said she saw a flicker in Miranda’s eyes. But Andy daren’t hope, not yet.  
  
She stepped closer, resting her hand on the balustrade less than an inch away from Miranda’s. Andy could feel the warmth radiating from her hands against the tips of her fingers. “Would you like to go to dinner with me.”  
  
Andy offered her brightest smile, her hands crept forwards. Her fingertips were resting against Miranda’s wrist and she could feel the older woman’s heartbeat reverberating through her. 

  
“Eleven Madison Park. Friday at eight.” Miranda’s answer came out soft and steady, but Andy could hear the vulnerability that was thrashing underneath the surface of her voice. And then she could feel the editor’s hand covering her own, long and elegant fingers sliding under her palm and thumb softly caressing her.  
  
Andy felt as if her heart might give out, but that wouldn’t do- Especially not now. Instead she steadied herself and chuckled. “I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally inspired by ‘The Post’, which is a very good film that I’d recommend anyone to watch. However, it is based on real events and I wasn’t quite comfortable using the real names, so I changed them- but it’s still very much inspired by Meryl Streep’s role in ‘The Post’. To make timelines align better, ‘Lin’ is also a bit younger. What we do for art eh. Now go watch 'The Post' it's great.


End file.
